


Something Better

by copperbadge



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Motorcycles, Resurrection, Very slight dubcon, intergenerational relationship, post-OotP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-14
Updated: 2004-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-25 00:25:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperbadge/pseuds/copperbadge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ginny and Sirius are both looking for something better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Better

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set post-canon but was written post-OOTP; it doesn't incorporate canon from the last two books. It contains very mild elements of dubious consent.

After Sirius died, two things went very wrong.

One of them was Harry.

Considering everything, he actually stayed quite sane. It was just the one thing -- but it was such a noticeable thing.

Overnight his hair grew out. And not just out into the messy, tufted black hair he'd always had, but all the way out. Long enough to be tied back into a ponytail, long enough to be straight instead of curly. 

Long enough that it looked like Sirius'. 

And Harry took to wearing Sirius' clothes, rescuing them from the trash before Molly could get rid of them. Tall and angry and with the long black hair and the too-large clothes, Harry looked like Sirius, could have been Sirius' son except for his green eyes. 

The second thing that went wrong was how people saw Harry after that.

Molly thought he was just being childish and grieving in the least sensible fashion possible. Remus thought Harry was tormenting him for holding him back in the Ministry, and stayed away unless it was unavoidable. Ron and Hermione didn't know what to think, so they treated Harry the same as always. Mostly, anyway. If they sometimes deferred to him as they might have done to Sirius, it was only to be expected.

Ginny, who had thought she was well over her childish crush on Harry, found herself attracted to him. Found herself liking his hair long, liking the smell of Sirius still on the clothing. It never seemed to fade. She found out eventually that Harry was using Sirius' aftershave.

She was twenty and the war was well under way by the time Harry had gathered enough power and enough powerful people around him to resurrect Sirius. By then almost everyone was used to the coal-black ponytail, the angry eyes, the daily reminder that Sirius had died for him.

Then suddenly there were two men with long black hair and haunted eyes again. Sirius, yanked back into the world of the living by sheer force of Harry's will, didn't remember much. He seemed no older than the thirty-five years he'd been when he'd fallen through the veil. 

He was quiet, mostly. He spent a lot of time reading. 

Harry gave him back his clothing, worn a little but still perfectly serviceable, and cut his own hair short, and kept fighting as if Sirius had never been gone, or come back. Harry just fought. Always. 

The first time Ginny saw Harry after he cut his hair, she realised she hadn't fallen back in love with Harry. She'd been loving Sirius and hadn't known it.

But Sirius wasn't Sirius, exactly, either; he was a shell of a man, often confused, re-learning how to live but doing it slowly and hesitantly, almost as if he was afraid the more he came back to life, the faster he would die again. The only things he did with any enthusiasm were reading, and repairing the old, banged-up motorbike that had been ruined by lying unused all those years. 

Ginny, between jobs for the Order, often found herself cross-legged on the stone floor of a basement room in the old Grimmauld Place house, watching Sirius scuttle around under the barely-hovering motorbike, now rewiring some nest of cords, now replacing a tube or pipe. 

She knew Sirius cared more about Harry than anything in the world, and she knew that Harry spent every moment he could with Sirius, but this wasn't Sirius' war anymore. All he could do was watch, and help from the sidelines. This time he seemed content to do so. He had no more energy to fight.

Sirius drew comfort from Harry, as he did from the unwavering, iron, and regrettably silent strength that Remus offered. But Sirius needed to learn how to live again. Sirius needed to remember that people weren't like motorbikes, to be taken apart and put together and ignored when one wasn't interested. 

Sirius needed to love someone not because he was a godfather or a friend -- not because it was his duty -- but because it was a joy. 

It was what made Ginny decide that fifteen years wasn't all that much, and besides Sirius was really mentally only about twenty anyway. She was fairly confident that she could seduce Sirius Black. From the stories she'd heard, it wasn't as though it took much, when he was at school.

She found him in the basement, head and shoulders under the motorbike, muttering about oil leaks. 

"Sirius?" she called.

"Just be a minute," he called back. His voice had slowly lost the hoarse desperation of those first few days back. 

"No, it's fine," she said, picking up a spanner from the workbench nearby. Thin, pleasantly heavy, cool to the touch. She toyed with it, coming to sit beside him.

"Something's leaking," he grunted, fingers tucked up in the belly of the machine, probing carefully. 

"Gas tank?"

"Not possible. Might have to order a part."

"Did you restore it the first time?" she asked, reaching up to run her fingers possessively over the body of the machine, down the tailpipe.

"Tinkered a bit. Had to, the years I had it. She's classic, you know. You can't get up inside a new bike like you can with these. Never goes out of style." She could see him smile, a little, though he wasn't looking at her. "Like a woman, James used to say. Some of them are just classics."

"I like the leather," she said, rising on her knees to stroke the seat. 

"Bugger to get grease off'f it," Sirius answered. "You've got to -- Ginny!"

She'd swung one leg over his hips, and settled comfortably on top of him to explore the machinery better, straddling him.

"Did this used to say something?" she asked innocently, drawing her fingers over an old, scratched logo.

She heard Sirius swallow. 

"Never looked," he answered. She scooted back a little, bending to inspect it carefully, and was rewarded with a sharp breath and the distinct feel of his erection beginning to rise against the flies of his trousers. He couldn't sit up; he was trapped, really, head and shoulders under the bike, though he'd slowly withdrawn his hands from the engine.

"I can't quite..." she wiggled, a little, as if adjusting herself.

"Ginny, I need -- "

She glanced down at him. She could just see his eyes.

" -- the spanner," he said, voice cracking.

She touched it lightly to his neck, bending so that the cut of her top gave away more than any young woman ought to be displaying to the dangerous ex-felon, Sirius Black. Drew the cool hard metal down over his collarbone. Hooked it in the frayed collar of his t-shirt. His hips arched.

"Ginny, stop playing around," he grunted.

"Was that an invitation?" she asked, letting the spanner slide off his chest, her fingers slipping down to push up the hem of the t-shirt. 

"I didn't mean..." he trailed off into a whimper as she stroked his stomach. "I meant -- Ginny, for -- "

"I've heard motorbikes draw a lot of attention," she said, wriggling again. His belt buckle snapped open easily, and she tugged. When he didn't help, she ran her hand over his cock, and he bucked again. 

She didn't get the trousers down very far, just far enough that she could release him from the confining cloth -- and there was that whine again, frustrated pleasure, as she ran her fingers lightly over sensitive, hot skin. 

She stopped, then, and made sure he could just barely see as she put both her hands on her thighs and ran them down, hip to knee -- and her clothing vanished. All except that low-cut, tight-clinging shirt...

"You need it," she said, voice low. "I'll enjoy it. Won't I?"

"Yes..." he moaned. "Please..."

"Please...?" she prompted, and pushed against him, feeling him suddenly inside her. The noise he made wasn't coherent. It was barely human. 

His hands, finally free of the tangle of tubes and machinery, found her hips, pulling her closer, angling her forward a little so that oh -- none of the boys she'd ever been with had known how to do that...

"Ginny," he growled, head arching back, fingers leaving black marks on her skin, machine dirt, slick but not greasy. She was wordless, suddenly, Sirius inside her, holding her, wanting her so fiercely she could feel it in the pulse and rhythm of his desperate, fierce longing and desire. 

And so much skill. The way he touched her, the way he paused just as she threw her head back, the way he let her come down when she'd been so close and then drove her over before she had time to breathe...

She didn't even realise that his short, sharp grunt as his fingers tightened on her hips was his own orgasm, she was so lost in sensation.

Later her mother would wonder how machine dirt had gotten into the shower upstairs, the one Ginny used, but it was just a little bit, in the bottom of the tub -- Ginny had been very careful to wash away the handprints Sirius left on the wall of the shower, on her hips, on her thighs, on her breasts.

And most of them would wonder why Sirius stopped working on the motorbike, and started joining in the fight again, but when they asked Ginny -- who seemed to know him best after Harry -- she just shrugged, and said he must have found something better to do.


End file.
